Against all odds
by Katy Williams
Summary: Holby City fic, Connie and Chrissie, follows on from 'The Sting'
1. Sober Awakening

"_Goodbye Connie. Remind me never to cross you…"_

A frivolous remark; one spoken in jest; intended to lighten the atmosphere slightly - to rid him of his own unease. Myself, I was contented enough with silence; how can one possibly put into words the way I'm supposed to feel right now? My husband's been arrested; set up by his spouse; his better half; his wife; me.

I suppose I ought to feel sadness, or relief, guilt even. But I don't… The only thing running through my mind at this moment is entirely selfish, although not totally unwarranted. It's a mere practicality, a technical hitch I forgot to iron out before I went steaming in all guns blazing with my master plan to outwit my own husband; What the hell I'm going to do now.

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"_Let go of me, I know the way!" _

Although a thousand possible explanations flick through my mind immediately, I know before I see the flash of betrayal in Michael's eyes that he's been found out. They're the kind of words associated with a television drama; something we never truly believe would happen in real life. But then again I suppose I never banked on Michael Beauchamp… None of us did.

It would be easy to feel remorse in this situation; no doubt that's what men like him set out to do; make you feel guilt for things over which you hold no control. But I don't, I don't feel regret or even stupidity for having trusted him, I just feel numb…

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All curiosity on the second woman's face was lost on the first as, painfully white and in silence, she follows the man she had always trusted implicitly. Coming to a stop on the other side of the desk, her gaze doesn't move from him, despite the questioning which follows.

"_What happened?"_

"_The swab test result… It was positive."_

A revelation. Incredulation. Shock.

"_Why did you say it was negative?"_

"_I couldn't trust you Chrissie."_

And then pain. Ongoing…

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The first woman moves to her desk draw sombrely, unscrewing the bottle which lay within it with an ease brought only through years practise in disappointment. _"Drink?"_

The latter shakes her head with blatant distraction, her face home to an expression of pure bewilderment at her companions apparent indifference to their situation. _"You… told them?"_

The woman looks up sharply. _"You didn't expect it?"_

"_I thought the result was negative."_

She laughs, a bitter element sounding through; irrepressible. _"What can I say? I'm a clever girl..."_

Sensing the veiled emotion behind her words, she replies with care. _"What do you mean?"_

The reply travels with a sigh; the tiredness of her eyes only just beginning to become apparent. _"When has there ever been a meaning behind words? They're chosen for effect, nothing more. Sentiment is lacking in all statements of truth."_

Silence elapses as the pair eye each other with a renewed intrigue, the outlines of each face deepen increasingly as a weariness becomes reflected on each; The week's events now taking their toll. Contours sharpening, creases folding, eyes narrowing as they notice each fault on its own merit; wrinkles suddenly more pronounced, eyes becoming grey, vicious smile fading.

"_Did you love him?" _She asks abruptly, surprising even herself.

"_It wasn't serious" _Comes the anticipated response; now automated from years of telling, still no more believable than the first time used.

"_How long?"_

"_What does it matter? It's over now."_

The first statement of reality, bringing them back to the ground at colliding force.

"_Of course it's over" _The elder snaps, the full realisation sinking beneath the surface of her cool façade. _"He's going to be locked up."_

Each face echoes their wish to throw away the key. Betrayal is perhaps the strangest emotion, bringing together women who until today were enemies. Not close enough to be referred to as friends; more strangers with one thing in common; A man who never mastered the art of quitting while he was ahead.


	2. Revelations

Time moved as it often does when in silence; at a snail's pace, each sour glance over the glasses met with one of cruel innocence; today neither can be blamed. The glass is brought to her lips in revenge, and as it oozes its deadly poison into her mouth, she smiles, for he wont be there to witness her punishment in the morning. A frown appears on the other woman's face, her question spoken with a new disbelief. _"This amuses you?" _

The shrug of reply speaks volumes as silence once again crashes over the pair loudly as for the first time this evening, they consider what this really means for both of them; A house without a husband, a child without a father.

'_And a hospital without a conman' _floats her silent response, the words not leaving her mind as her twisted smile transpires again, in a flash removing the tired elements, and replacing them with something new; a hilarity which sinks no deeper than the skin; a quiet inner amusement at the unusual circumstances which have brought the pair together today.

"_My grandfather…" _Silence shatters in an instant as the woman asks the question which has been musing on her mind since her lover was arrested.

"_It's dead and buried." _Comes the other's tired reply, shutting her eyes to signify her desire to avoid any further contemplation of the situation into which they have been thrown, almost without warning as events proceeded to take them unawares. _"Please let's leave it there."_

"_I can't…" _

Two words bound with regret and an apology. Whether for the liaison initiated between herself and her companion's husband, or more simply for ignoring the second woman's plea to let sleeping dogs lie, remains to be seen. However it is the heavy emotion which makes her voice break, which rouses the other woman from her state of silent indifference and the pity in her newly-opened eyes for the stranger not yet trusted enough to be called a friend, is obvious.

"_You're right." _

Compared the question posed, its answer is toneless, void of any emotion other than sheer exhaustion, and a desire to end the elapsed conversation and descend once again into the wordless haven she had come to prefer.

"_He told you to fake it?"_

No longer alone with her thoughts, her smile fades, soon replaced with the betrayal which washes over her roughly. Her response barely leaves her lips; whispered almost silently; the swallowing of emotion clearly evident in its tone.

"_He was my husband"_

And remorse is felt on either side this time as they begin to realise that the women they had been working with so long, didn't really exist at all. Now simply the shells remain of the confident women that had walked into the hospital that morning, stripped of their protective barriers and further unarmed by their love of the set same man, who, in the end, reverted to type, unable to keep up his pretence any longer.

The re-living of the greedy fingers trapped between the biscuit tin and its lid, brings yet another bitter smile to the first woman's face. He was far too intelligent to deny the crime any longer, but in too deep to realise that his attempts to justify it had fallen on empty ears; deafened by one fabrication too many. This left her with possibly the most frustrating question ever posed to her; one which she held no real hope of ever answering truthfully; Was he too worried about his future to detect her lies, or too blinded by love for her to anticipate her actions? One thing was certain she thought, she would never really know.

"_How long were you together?"_

A question with an infinite number of answers, the main problem being which one to give. She had little to gain from her usual response, and piling lies on top of lies was not something she wished to continue further.

"_Since I was sixteen"_

A reply which may have been uttered from a third person in the room for all the similarity it held to her usual voice. More emotion than she had wanted to share, tongue shocked by the heavy tone uncovering the lies which had been told before; they had met in university, married soon after.

"_You were his mistress." _Her consort states, her expression clearly suggesting she doesn't expect a reply. The woman voices an explanation almost immediately, although not unwittingly spoken, unwanted all the same.

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	3. How it all began

"_Oh there you are sweetheart, where have you been? Never mind that now, there's someone I want you to meet, Charles? You remember Connie, my daughter…"_

_The man turns and is met by smiles; both false although you wouldn't know it, or necessarily believe it if it happened to cross your mind. Hands are shaken and the usual pleasantries tossed around, the comments about my age, our last meeting, how wonderfully I've grown up, all the while gripping my petite hand tightly in his sweaty palms, and I dislike him instantly. I swallow the poisonous exclamation as his gaze falls along my curves appreciatively, and smile sweetly instead; butter truly wouldn't melt in the mouth of Trevor Barton's daughter. _

_Not wanting to be out done, my newly-acquired hand-holder turns and waves over another man; one I don't recognise. Dropping my hand grudgingly, he smiles at my father nauseatingly, and then my hand's been shaken by someone else, softly, with care, as his eyes pierce my mind at an instant._

"_This is my son, Michael." _

_The rest of his words wash over me, none remaining long enough to stick in my mind as I eye the face looking down at me in such amusement, with curiosity, and as Charles' attention turns to the next unsuspecting daughter, I smile, enjoying at once the company of the latest stranger._

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"_You play it well" He remarks, ordering two glasses of wine from the bar despite my protests of being under-age and having no desire to drink myself under the table when in the company of my father's work colleagues. _

_I frown, my naturally suspicious mind quick to question him. "What?"_

"_The dutiful daughter"_

_Laughter rings out at the term, despite my uncertainty about whether it was spoken unwittingly "It comes with practise."_

"_He brings you to a lot of these then?"_

_A nod, validating his assumption. "I'm a much younger and prettier ornament to hang from his arm than his wife. It does the business good apparently.."_

"_It bores you" He states with a smirk which irritates me immediately. _

"_Why would it?" comes my opposition, my temper flaring not for the first time tonight, and then a softer, more light hearted answer to my own question follows. "An evening of long dresses and compliments, sugary smiles and sparkling conversation, who would pass it up in favour of a night in front of the telly?"_

"_Someone who looks like she wants to cut of the testicles of every man she's shaken hands with tonight."_

_The bitterness is evident in my voice as I reply. "If they didn't insist on groping me every time they think my father's back is turned, then I wouldn't have a problem with them."_

_His laugh isn't accusing, or justifying, it simply highlights his amusement at my fiery temperament, and causes my face to soften considerably. "And anyway, I didn't look like that every time…"_

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"_Are all the rooms here like this?" is the question that shows my naivety of such places, and he nods, an eyebrow raised at my chosen topic._

"_Drink?"_

_I shake my head once more, rolling my eyes as I turn away from him, casting my gaze around the room with intrigue. _

"_You don't mind if I have one?" A gentleman's question, met with the obligatory response.. _

"_So you're interested in art?" He remarks, moving from behind the bar and stepping towards me as I continue to study the paintings. Grinning, I turn and shake my head. "Not in the slightest."_

_Amusement flashes across his face once more as he downs his drink, setting the glass down on the side behind him. "So why are you here?"_

_My silence speaks volumes, and he steps towards me._

"_What would you say, if I told you I was married?"_

_I raise my eyebrow suggestively, the equivalent of a coy shrug of the shoulders, and step towards him. _

_No words are spoken from then on, but I knew the second his lips reach mine, that he was going to break my heart. Silent whispers with the caress of his tongue promise me the world, his fingertips assuring that he'll be careful. His smile isn't triumphant when we fit together perfectly, his sighs reflecting my feelings entirely as we overstep the line between the polite children of two colleagues. _

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"_How old was he?" _

Her words bring her companion back to the present, her face now etched with sadness, where pure happiness had once laid its head.

"_Old enough to know better" _Comes the over-used reply, shortly followed by the actual answer. _"Twenty… Married less than a year…"_

"_Who was she?" _Once certain that the soft desire for clarification was void of any accusations, the woman decides to reply, years of living with her secret having taken away the sheepishness with which she tells the sorry tale. _"Her name was Fiona… Why am I telling you all of this?"_

The second woman shrugs, increasingly aware of the questioning which is about to follow now that her partner has put an indefinite lid on her revelations.

"_Did he say he loved you?"_

Her response is made with blatant discomfort. _"I've changed my mind, where's that bottle?"_


	4. An inquisition

"_What does he have on you?" _An innocent enough remark had it not been laced with the curiosity which the other woman had been dreading. Her stony silence causes clarifications to tumble out the mouth of the opposite woman in her discomfort. "_Why did you do it? What does he hold over you?"_

"_Other than the obvious you mean?" _She replies with a resignation grown through the realisation that she needed him far too much to ever willingly walk away. A fact which she still had trouble accepting. It worried her to say the least; the seemingly unbreakable tie adding a dangerous unknown into her mix. Dependence was not an emotion she performed well in any situation; it was met with a vehement dislike whenever it raised its head, and it was almost instantly smothered by a more pressing emergency; a bypass, a graft, a man.

The question now put to her was one over which she had spent many hours of the past week pondering. Her love for him, she supposed, was the answer, but it was barely palatable for her to admit such a vast weakness in her persona. Although it was a bit late now to admit that she had let things go too far; to confess that she had finally succumbed to the infliction she so despised; the inability to keep her personal life well and truly separate from the ward.

She had though, she supposed, gotten her comeuppance for her temporary blindness; she had lost the one single thing that had been keeping her afloat all these years; her husband.

"_You loved him?" _Another mindless question, one which should never have been uttered; a fact which the woman could not fail to see upon noticing the look of pure disgust on her companion's face_. "Don't ask such bloody stupid questions."_

Although the first woman's tone had been neutral, the bitterness evident in the reply she received was great. Looking at the floor, she sighed inwardly as silence collapsed over them once more, it's icy exterior causing her to shiver involuntarily, and so she wraps her arms around her knees, hugging them tightly as her mind drifts back into the rut it's spent the last hour being stuck; Wondering what on earth she was going to do now.

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"_Did he mention me?"_

Her tone was merely curious; resigned to the fact that her husband was never far from unfaithful, but intrigued as to how he played this affair in particular. The one which broke so many rules; the one which ripped away carelessly what little dignity she had remaining.

And as for the other, a new dilemma to face; tell the truth? Lie and reply with what her partner so obviously needed? Or evade the question completely? And although she contemplated the latter for a few moments, she knew that however long they went round in circles, the other woman would get the truth out of her in the end.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed since she'd voiced her query, nor could she read the woman's face. He had mentioned her, that much was clear, but in what manner, she couldn't be sure. Neither secrecy nor dislike crossed Chrissie's features; only tiredness prevailed; tiredness at being let down by man after man after man. She'd just have to get used to it, the other woman mused; they all did.

Her husband's infidelities had been viewed as little more than a lack of self-control in the eyes of her staff. She knew better, but, she supposed, she ought to by now; she'd had years of practise; over twenty to be exact. It was a sobering thought realising how much time had been lost with him. Not that she'd ever viewed it that way before. Their unconventional marriage had never seemed it to her; she guessed it was because she'd never really known anything different. Her own parents' marriage was far from ordinary, and she'd never been the type to want to blend in with the crowd; always needing to be better, always needing that little bit more; it was a trait which she and her wayward husband had shared. The difference between them being that her scruples were ingrained too deep for her to turn her back on; her ward to precious to shut down on the plea of her other half.

Time reached a point where she could no longer legitimately remain silent, so, with a slight shrug of the shoulders brought from habit rather than a lack of knowledge, she spoke. _"Why does it matter now?"_

It was a fair enough question. To Chrissie, she mused, it seemed a loveless marriage between two workaholics, driven to each other by a mutual desire to succeed. And it could seem irrelevant now; a few passing statements to tell his lover what she wanted to hear, but she needed to hear it all the same. She needed to know whether the fate which she had engineered willingly for Fiona, would have happened to her if it were not for her husband's greed.

"_Answer the question."_

No longer a question; now an order, resulting in the screwing up of the face of her companion in indigence. Now switched into the roles of Medical Director and Matron, eyes were spun to heaven with an air of exasperation at their renewed hierarchy before she finally decided to feed her own curiosity before she graced the woman with the answer she so needed.

"_It hardly seems worth dredging up…"_

"_What did he say?"_

An interruption; snappy to say the least. Tempers, by now, were too frayed to be pushed much further. The day which she had become to expect was lasting an awful lot longer than she'd ever imagined it would. She'd known he'd trip over his own feet at some point, knew their union wouldn't last forever, but she hadn't banked on the complications which were beginning to arise.

It was then that it occurred to her that Connie wasn't asking the same question as before. No longer caught up with wondering about his sentiments towards her, his wife had now astutely noticed the subconscious movement of Chrissie's hand to her stomach with a fear and a fondness that could only mean one thing.

"_I didn't tell him." _came the reply, ringing out deafeningly in the silence.

"_Didn't tell him, or didn't have chance to tell him?" _A clarification which she supposed would have been asked eventually. The difficulty was; Chrissie couldn't be sure of the answer herself. Who knows what would have happened had he not been arrested; when she saw him in the corridor; when he called her to arrange another meeting; when he cornered her in his office.

Perhaps she would have clean to him before, had she not known what his solution would be; a path which this time she was unwilling to take. Silence overcame them once more, Chrissie finding no words suitably pleasing for the other, instead, her fingers fiddling with her stomach softly, confirming her newly-found fears.


	5. Memories

"_When will you…"_

"_June"_

It was a question she needed to ask, if only to confirm for herself that her fears were true.

"_And it's safe to assume that you'll be -"_

"_Keeping it?" _The reply was harsh, the bitter undertones in her own voice sounding through. _"Of course."_

The other woman nodded, accepting her cold tone, and pours herself another glass. _"You'll get what you need. I'll make sure Michael sees to that."_

"_It's not the money I want."_ An argument which she immediately wishes she hadn't tried to fight as the face of the woman opposite her flushes with a new wave of sadness. _"Neither did I… But that's all I got."_

And then the guilt was felt all round; for the snide remarks, for her affair with a married man, for the situation in which they now found themselves. It was a vicious circle; anger, pain, resignation, guilt and then anger again. Anger at themselves, each other and the man that put them there.

She'd like to be able to tell her that it hadn't always been that way. That he hadn't always felt the need to go elsewhere for his kicks. She had long ago realised that it wasn't something he altogether needed; she provided him with more than enough, but his inner requirement for what he didn't have; and oughtn't have, was something which she could never remove. She'd often wondered if she even wanted to. It was what made him who he was. Part of what made her smile, made her feel special; out of all the women he could have, and did frequently it had to be admitted, she was the one he'd put before all others. Unfortunately he didn't appear to include himself in 'all others.'

Maybe if he had, they wouldn't be in this mess., maybe if she'd have realised what he was doing sooner, maybe if she hadn't got the police involved… All empty speculations now; there were a million ways things could have panned out between them, and what ifs weren't going to help her at all. But still she kept wondering. Wondering when he'd gotten so money-greedy, wondering why she hadn't spotted it herself, wondering why he didn't put a stop to it before it was too late.

There was a time of course, where she'd been happy. Where, to her knowledge, he hadn't been unfaithful, but looking back on previous times wasn't much of a consolation. Instead it brought fresh waves of pity, as, not for the first time that night, she wished that her husband hadn't been so bloody stupid.

For a man with a Medical degree, he'd certainly managed to hide his intellect well; dodgy dealings only half-covered, affairs in places there was no doubt that his wife would find out, but then, perhaps that was his aim. Perhaps he wanted her to find out, perhaps he wanted to get caught. It was beyond her, she mused, the workings of his mind, that's assuming there were any. It was most likely that he simply hadn't thought his actions through at all, that he'd acted on impulse, on a whim. Well if that were the case, then more fool him, she thought bitterly.

"_But surely he loved you…"_

_Once_ was the silent afterthought the pair added. Sombre in the knowledge that his actions were hardly those of a man besotted with his wife.

"_I never doubted it…"_

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"_Close your eyes."_

"_Why?"_

"_Just close them."_

_Giggles rang out as she stumbled over the step, smiling with contentment as his grip around her waist tightened to prevent her from falling further. "What are we doing?"_

"_You'll see."_

"_Where are we?"_

"_Stop asking questions and just trust me"_

_His lips moved onto her neck, kissing her softly as he guided her into the room, resulting in more smothered chuckles from Connie's lips. _

_When he finally allowed her to open her eyes, she gasped, her eyes quickly scanning the scarlet roses with delight. "It's beautiful."_

_Their lovemaking was gentle and calm, the joining of two souls as they came together time and time again; her cries not from pain, but from passion, tipping her over the edge into elation._

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"He was romantic with you"

A statement rather than a question, though proving all the same the difference between his actions in each affair. It was closely followed by a sour laugh. _"When he wanted to be I suppose." _

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"_If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were trying to convince me of something."_

"_Don't leave." He speaks impulsively, the words tumbling out of his mouth before his brain has the chance to register them. _

"_It isn't right…"_

"_It was on the rocks long before I met you -" came his response, keen to persuade, eager as always to get what he wanted. _

"_That's not the point and you know it. I may be many things, but a home breaker I am not." Her words were sharp, strong; unmoving. _

"_No one thinks you are"_

"_Oh really? Because if Fiona were here, I'm damned sure she'd disagree with you there."_

"_Please don't do this"_

"_I have to…" A waver in her voice not missed by her lover. _

"_Just let me explain -"_

"_Nothing you've got to say will make me change my mind."_

"_I love you Connie."_

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"_So that was it?"_

An interruption as Connie paused for breath, curiosity getting the better of the woman opposite her. The reply came almost with a smile. _"No of course not, he had to work for it"_

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"_So that makes it alright does it?" She questioned him sharply and he shook his head; forced to concede that she was right. "Then what?"_

_A shrug. "I just had to say it"_

_Her reply came with an exasperated sigh, tired now. "What do you expect from me? A round of applause?"_

_His face sours. "Don't be ridiculous-"_

"_Or what?" she continues, ignoring him " For me to fall into your arms and tell you it doesn't matter that you're married?'_

"_It never seemed to bother you before." comes his retort, spoken with a bitterness only just beginning to make its appearance. "And yeah a little emotion would have been nice"_

_A glare silenced him. "Don't you dare…"_

"_Connie -"_

"_For starters, it's one thing sleeping with a married man, it's a whole other board game letting him fall in love with you. And assuming that you're telling the truth when you say you love me -"_

"_I am -"_

"_In which case, we've completely stepped over the mark for this to be acceptable"_

"_To you" He voices stubbornly and she looks at him coolly, the sharpness of her words daring him to cross her. "Yes Michael acceptable to me."_

"_And?"_

_A little word which can cause such offence._

"_Excuse me?"_

"_You said first of all. What's your second point?"_

"_How did you expect me to react Michael? I'm serious"_

"_I thought you'd be pleased" He says cuttingly, his smile long-since removed by her opposition. _

_A sigh. "I really don't understand how your mind works sometimes…"_

"_Alright, so I thought I meant more to you than a quick fling, my mistake."_

"_Don't pull at that thread Michael" A warning meant to be heeded. Her partner pays no attention however, "Why not?"_

"_Because I know exactly why you're saying it Michael. You want me to give in and tell you how much I want you, need you even, because you mistakenly believe that it will make me forget this little fact." She fiddles with his wedding ring as though this was undeniable proof of her words. _

"_If I divorce her, will you stay?"_

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"_You mean you didn't…"_

The woman shakes her head, smiling wistfully. _"Give him an ultimatum? No… It's not my style to throw a strop and demand his full attention."_

"_It's hardly a temper tantrum" _The other woman argues, raising her eyebrows in response to her companions shrug. _"It's not an unreasonable request."_

"_That what you said to Michael was it?"_

Her reply sounds out more cruelly than she'd intended, and the pair fall into an uncomfortable silence once more.

"_It's just not how I work" _The explanation comes eventually, breaking the silence to which they have both now become accustomed. _"It had to be his decision; his choice. At least, it had to seem it to him anyway."_

"_You were calling his bluff?"_

Then a sigh. _"It would have been easier if I was wouldn't it? For everyone else I mean, to carry on believing that I'm this hard-nosed bitch that couldn't give a toss."_

Chrissie didn't speak; what could she possibly say to that; Connie's description of herself had been deadly accurate.

"_And I don't anyway" _the woman added stubbornly; the untruth in her words becoming apparent to them both immediately.


End file.
